Were me, as wisly god my soule save!
To seyn a thing through which ye might be wroth;
And, to that day that I be leyd in grave,
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A trewer servaunt shulle ye never have;
And, though that I on yow have pleyned here,
Forgiveth it me, myn owne lady dere!
Ever have I been, and shal, how-so I wende,
Outher to live or dye, your humble trewe;
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